


flashpoint

by puchuupoet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Gen, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Takes place where Dean's 17 and Sam's 13 (or thereabouts). Un-beta'd. Inspired by a request over at <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/spnstoryfinders/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/spnstoryfinders/"><b>spnstoryfinders</b></a> asking for fic where "<i>Dean is in a serious car accident (other than in Devil's Trap/IMTOD)? Gen and non-deathfics are strongly preferred</i>".</p>
    </blockquote>





	flashpoint

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place where Dean's 17 and Sam's 13 (or thereabouts). Un-beta'd. Inspired by a request over at [](http://community.livejournal.com/spnstoryfinders/profile)[**spnstoryfinders**](http://community.livejournal.com/spnstoryfinders/) asking for fic where " _Dean is in a serious car accident (other than in Devil's Trap/IMTOD)? Gen and non-deathfics are strongly preferred_ ".

It's dark when Dean starts to feel human again; fumbling to grasp at the blanket covering him, to reassure himself that he can still cling and stretch and move. The room is dark save for the thin stretch of light glowing from underneath the door. Dean's thankful for that, isn't ready to face himself yet.

He doesn't know how much time has passed before the shadows on the wall flex, thinning and stretching as the door opens and closes again. He can tell it's Sam by the way the footsteps try to be quiet, and in his current state he's more likely to admit Sam's getting better at it.

Sam stays quiet when he gets near, and that's what confuses Dean the most. He can hear the warm groan of the floorboards as Sam kneels next to the bed, and the way the bed shifts when Sam carefully leans on it.

"God?" Sam's voice is a thin whisper in the dark room; the only sound Dean can hear. "I hope you're listening, cause this one's important. Dean's in trouble, he's hurt really bad and I want you to take care of him. Help him get better and learn from this and just, make him be okay, okay? Don't let this happen again God, please."

It takes all of Dean's power not to roll over and gather Sam up in his arms, the way Sam's voice breaks at the end. He waits until Sam stops sniffling, another moment of silence before he stretches his legs out and rolls his head towards the edge of the bed.

"Sammy?" Dean keeps his voice rough, an easy task after what he just heard. "Wha time is it?" The slur is easier the more he talks, and Dean starts to recognize the ebb and flow of some sort of drug in his system.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounds guilty in the dark. "You're awake?"

"Yeah, drugs must be wearing off."

"You know then?" Sam's voice is cautious, and Dean wishes he could see his face right now.

"Just that it all hurts." Dean tries stretching out some more, but can only get so far before a deeper ache hits him, pulsing through his body until he's ready to curl up in a ball. "What happened?"

Even though the room's dark, Dean can see Sam duck his head towards the doorway for a moment. "I won't say you told, Sam. Promise," Dean tries to reassure him.

"Just, you were in an accident Dean, a bad one," Sam rushes out. "Dad's pissed and the cops almost got involved and just." He trails off. "It was bad."

Dean blinks a few times before it all starts to connect. "Was it the hunt, Sam? Cause the last thing I remember is following Dad on the highway on the way to the camp grounds."

The bed shivers when Sam shakes his head. "That was it, Dean. There was another car or something, Dad wouldn't say. Just called to say that you'd been hit and to get ready."

"Wait, the car was hit?" Dean's heartbeat picks up and he tries not to think of the worst possible scenarios.

"Really, Dean? The car?" Sam's voice is suddenly loud in the small room. "What the hell?"

There's a sudden thump downstairs that keeps them both silent, waiting to see if footsteps on the stairs follow. When the TV switches on, Dean can feel himself relax a little.

"What are you talking about?"

"Dean, you're hurt. Concussion, bruised ribs, sprained wrist and bruises and scratches everywhere." Sam shuffles around before standing, and his voice is quieter now, higher up. "Can't you tell?"

Dean shakes his head, a slow roll over the pillow. "Dunno what Dad gave me, but it's working, sorry."

"Wasn't Dad. And it should knock you on your ass until you're better. I'm not holding my breath for you to learn your lesson though."

Dean shuts his eyes as he processes Sam's words. He can feel the pain in his body separate, become more defined now that Sam's explained it all to him. The more he focuses on it, the more he starts to remember, bits and flashes that leave his heart racing. If he forces himself to think about it, he's able to line up pain with metal, bruises with curves and interior until he can feel the Impala pressed tight along his body.

"I didn't..." Dean's voice breaks and he can feel the drugs slipping away, leaving him bare and exposed to what happened.

The bed groans suddenly when Sam's weight is added to it, and he curves himself around Dean, knowingly carefully of where to place his arm over Dean's stomach. When Dean breathes in he's aware of the bruises the seatbelt left across his hips and belly.

"It was messed up, Dean," Sam whispers against his neck. "It was rainy and wet and you had the music on too loud again. The paramedics could hear it when they got close to you afterwards. And some guy was dumb and couldn't see you in time and just made it all worse." Sam's arm tightens around Dean, sending a jolt of pain through his body. "Car was twisted up. Not so bad that Dad can't fix it, but it just looked so horrible..." Sam trails off but Dean knows what he's getting at.

"'m sorry." It's the first thing that comes to mind.

Sam doesn't answer, just curls in closer; so conscious of Dean's wounds that Dean's ready to ask to be hurt all over again. Because it's his fault he put the family through this; because he deserves it.

"Stop talking." Sam's voice is suddenly in his head.

"I said that out loud?"

"And all sorts of other things." Dean can feel Sam's mouth smile against his skin, and he wonders when Sam was able to get _that_ close. Fucking medication.

"Crap."

"Need you, Dean." Sam's voice is getting sleepy and Dean moves around a little, until they're tilted towards each other, Sam's' head tucked under Dean's chin. He winces when he moves his arm to cover Sam - it must be the one with the sprained wrist - but he does his best to pull Sam in closer.

"Can't do this alone," Sam continues, and Dean feels like the ultimate jackass.

"I won't, I promise," he murmurs into Sam's hair. "I'll drive carefully, under the speed limit and keep the music down and everything."

"Mean it?"

"Yeah." _Of course._

"Dad's leaving in the morning," Sammy murmurs, sleep quickly overtaking him. "Some hunt a couple hundred miles away. Said he'll be gone at least four days, depending on how bad it all is."

"Yeah?"

"Since you're a broken dumbass now, I can make you scrambled eggs for breakfast, if you want."

Dean tightens around Sam, pulling him in despite the pain, until Sam giggles. "I'm sorry I fucked up. You know that, right?"

"Just don't do it again," Sam tells him, burrowing his face against Dean's' shoulder. "And go back to sleep before I medicate you again."

Dean nods, rearranging the blankets around both of them. Sam's breathing evens out quickly, and Dean's left to the darkness once more. The wind picks up, soft whistles against the side of the house as the rain pelts down against the windows. Dean tries his hardest to ignore it, focusing on Sam's presence instead. Soon his breath is matching, in sync and slowing down, until the drugs wash over him again


End file.
